


you love it (how I move)

by i_am_my_opheliac



Series: imagine (a world like that) [11]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: M/M, Riding, Smut, Songfic, handjob, sofa sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 20:22:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17732039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_am_my_opheliac/pseuds/i_am_my_opheliac
Summary: You can’t help but smile, the sound of his begging like music to your ears.--Inspired by God is a woman - Ariana Grande





	you love it (how I move)

_You, you love it how I move you_  
_You love it how I touch you_  
_My one, when all is said and done_  
_You'll believe God is a woman_

There is a sense of urgency, tonight.

The lights are low in the room, the curtains drawn so that the outside world is shut out, keeping the bubble of you life sealed away from wondering eyes. It makes time almost stand still, the lack of brightness around you. Your senses are heightened, the feeling of naked skin under your fingertips, the smell of musk and wood that you can breathe in through you nose, the sound of Phil’s gasps and moans in your ears. The taste of him as you leave kisses on his jaw, tongue poking out just to sample him.

He’s putty in your hands, surrendering under your touch as he let the sofa take all of his weight, head thrown back and feet planted on the floor just so he can feel more steady. You hover over him, legs bracketing his hips so that he can’t move away from you, so that he’s a prisoner to your desires - a prison that he’s chosen himself, a cell whose bars he’s built himself, one after the other, gluing them on with years of love and dedication.

The same love and dedication that you want to show to him, right now, with a trail of kisses left on his naked chest, delicate bites on his nipples, the grounding feeling of his fingers in your hair, keeping you close, wordlessly asking for more.

_I don't wanna waste no time, yuh_  
_You ain't got a one-track mind, yuh_  
_Have it any way you like, yuh_  
_And I can tell that you know I know how I want it_

For all the virtues that Phil has, patience isn’t one of them. His desires burn fast and strong, an all-consuming fire that take over him, completely. The only thing holding him back is his need to deserve it, to be handled his wishes because he thinks like he’s done something good, something _right_.

You understand it, to some degree - know what it feels like to get something good and have the experience tainted by the idea that you shouldn’t enjoying it. But sex with Phil - that is something else. You have spent too much time holding back, thinking that it wasn’t something meant for you to enjoy, something that you could find pleasure in. You have spent too much time worrying about the judgement of the outside world, of what they would think when you are on top of him, hips grinding against his, finding pleasure in moving your hard cock against the feeling of another, just as hard, cock.

It has taken you a long time to accept that this is what you like and you are allowed to it - allowed to want it, allowed to love it. It makes it even more satisfying, skimming your fingers down his body to lightly wrap them around him, feel the weight of him in your palm, the wetness of the head.

“Babe, please -”

You can’t help but smile, the sound of his begging like music to your ears. The grip of his fingers in your hair only tightens as you swipe your thumb on the head of his cock, the first drops of pre-cum already spilling out.

“What do you want? Tell me,” you demand, voice low and enchanting. You’re in control tonight, and you both know it, both want it. It isn’t always the case. Sometimes, you want nothing more than laying back and spread yourself open, nothing but a willing hole for him to fill, to take at whatever pace he so pleases.

Tonight, though. Tonight you just want to hear his pleas, to hear his prays for you to give him exactly what he wants, to play the part of generous and omniscient God of both of your pleasures. You want him to beg.

And he does. “Please - you, just want you.”

You close your teeth around his nipple the same moment you stroke him, the shape of him so familiar in your hand, you know it will feel almost like something is missing the moment you let go of it, even if you’ll have it back inside of you soon.

“And you know what I want.”

_Ain't nobody else can relate_  
_Boy, I like that you ain't afraid_  
_Baby, lay me down and let's pray_  
_I'm tellin' you the way I like it, how I want it_

His muscles flexes as you keep yourself propped up on top of him, his hands on your ass helping you spread yourself open for him as you rock back on two of your fingers.

You love watching him as you finger yourself, love feeling all the ways his body is connected to yours as you fill in your hole, reveling in the sensation of slightly held back pleasure, the self imposed edging of having him right there, underneath you, hands so close to your hole that he could take over at any second, but resisting because you want him to.  
It drives you crazy, the trust he has in you, the belief that everything you do will bring him pleasure - that he just has to beg for it, eyes blown wide with lust and bottom lip bitten raw by the stress of holding back.

“Touch me,” you demand, the nails on his shoulder digging in as you twist the fingers inside in a way that is almost enough to make you cry out.

Phil - gorgeous, brilliant Phil - doesn’t waste a second, one of his hand disappearing from your ass to close around your neglected cock, the touch starking in the pleasure that gives you despite being something that you’re so used to.

“God,” he moans, a hint of wonder in his voice, “look at you, so gorgeous, so pretty, fucking yourself for me.”

It’s torture, the way his words wash over you, warm and delicious with the pleasure that goes straight to your cock, the weakness of hearing the filth that can come out of his mouth - so different from the perfectly ironed out version that he puts on for the world out there, preppy shirts and innocent smile, so different from the man that walks around the house with nothing on just to rile you up, the man that makes stupid bet out of whatever game you two are playing just for the chance to get his cock sucked.

You love it - love all versions of him, but more than anything you love the filthiness that is reserved just for you, the one that makes you want to fall on your knees and worship him just the way he does to you, over and over.

_I'll tell you all the things you should know_  
_So, baby, take my hand, save your soul_  
_We can make it last, take it slow, hmm_  
_And I can tell that you know I know how I want it, yuh_

In the end, Phil’s patience wears short.

You are not even surprised when the hand on your cock disappears and you feel pressure against the wrist pumping in and out of you, pulling your fingers out. It’s the weirdest sensation, the fluttering of your hole closing around nothing, the distinct sensation of _loss_ that takes over you for a just a second.

It makes no sense, because you know you’re about to be filled out soon - Phil is already reaching for the lube that you tossed on the other side of the sofa, his hands shaking with excitement to finally get what he wants.

You could stop him, prolong the teasing even more, make him wait again and again until he’s delirious with want and begging for you to ride him, for you to fuck himself on his cock.

But he takes your hand and squirts the lube on it, pleading with blue eyes that you have never been able to resist, and you huff out a frustrated laugh.

It doesn’t take long to coat him with lube, not with the way he’s almost trembling with _need_ , cock fat with blood and hard as a rock.

It takes it even less to raise your hips and position the head of it against you, teasing both you and Phil with small circles of it before slowly sinking down, the feeling of him filling you up like taking the first breath of air after being underwater for so long.

_But you different from the rest_  
_And boy, if you confess, you might get blessed_  
_See if you deserve what comes next_  
_I'm tellin' you the way I like it, how I want it_

“Yeah, come on Phil, fuck me,” you instruct him through broken moans and gasped out curses as he snaps his hips in and out, the blunt pain of his nails digging into your thighs as he uses the leverage to keep fucking into you.

You meet him at every other thrust, never enough to let him chase the kind of relief that he needs, a continuous build up for his orgasm.

For you, it’s easier like this - to angle yourself so that the head of his cock will hit your prostate at every single thrust, the slight drag of skin and lube against your relaxed hole lighting up sparkles inside of you, from your ass straight to your cock.

There’s sweat glistening on his forehead and down his neck, trapped in the wispy chest hair that you adore. You know that a man is not made of just body hair and a cock, but Phil _is_ a man, feels like it, and you love him because of it, have learned to not just accept it but thoroughly enjoy it, the way it makes you feel, just how much of a man he is.

It makes you feel powerful, riding the cock of this man that has been next to you for the past decade, loving and cherishing you, the most wonderful partner that you could have ever hoped for as a lonely, depressed teenager. It makes you wonder what people would think, if they could watch the two of you right now, trapped together on the sofa in a house that has both of your names on it, bodies fitting perfectly together despite what society might say.

“Fuck, like that Phil, yes -”

He fucks you and fucks you for what feels like hours, until the pleasure builds up so much that you only need to get a hand around yourself and stroke for a couple of times before you’re coming, strokes of cum on his chest, a gorgeous piece of art that no one else can admire.

It feels like a switch is turned on the moment your orgasm hits you, almost like that was the green light Phil was waiting for to run for his own prize. He drops his forehead on your collarbone and tightens the hold around your body and then he increases the pace of his thrusts, keeping you raised up just so he can fuck you properly.

You wish there was a mirror, just so you could watch the way his cock slides in and out of you, the feeling almost too much for your over-sensitive body but worth it just for the melodic grunts and gasps that leaves his mouth.

“Come for me,” you whisper in his ear, knowing too well all his weak points, almost a decade of learning everything that makes him tick, everything that lightens him from the inside.

And it works.

His hips stutter after a few more thrusts, “ _God_ ,” he moans out and then he’s coming, the feeling of warmth inside of you as familiar as a long awaited embrace.

When you’re done, you stay like that, tangled together on the sofa, you straddling him, broken breaths synchronized in the silence of the room. There was a time where you felt the need to fill the silence with words, declaration of love a needed reminder to keep whatever doubt was creeping on your shoulders.

You don’t need that, not anymore. The silence between the two of you hasn’t felt heavy in a long time, its presence the perfect companion to the symphony of your hearts beating together. You could say _I love you_ , could rejoice in how amazing the sex was.

But when you open your eyes to look at Phil, and find him looking back at you, you know that it doesn’t matter.

The sound of your bodies smacking against each other has already said everything that you needed to know.

_And I, I feel it after midnight_  
_A feelin' that you can't fight_  
_My one, it lingers when we're done_

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked it, you can reblog it on tumblr [here](http://i-am-my-opheliac.tumblr.com/post/182715726354/you-love-it-how-i-move)


End file.
